


My Toaster Likes You

by Extremis



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Tony's toaster has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extremis/pseuds/Extremis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let it be known that Tony Stark was not good at “feelings”. Let it also be known that he had a significant issue with telling people when he wanted them around. </p>
<p>Or Tony is incapable of doing the whole talking about feelings thing, and uses inanimate (and animate) objects to convince people to hang around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Toaster Likes You

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo, finally got my AO3 invite. First fanfiction in quite awhile (A year... ish?), so hopefully my lack of active writing doesn't show too badly. Enjoy!

Let it be known that Tony Stark is not good at “feelings”. Let it also be known that he has a significant issue with telling people when he wants them around. He had no problem whatsoever with telling someone to fuck off in the most offending way possible that would still take them quite awhile to figure out, but telling someone to stay was just not his thing. It was about as easy for Tony to tell someone he wants them around, as it was easy for a rock to become an astrophysicist.  
  
That’s right, it was impossible, and not just because rocks didn't have the brain capacity required.  
  
So when he went to collect the Avengers, it certainly wasn’t because he finally felt comfortable and at home with a group of people. No, definitely not. Because Tony Stark did not have a heart and was perfectly okay with living alone in his workshop, with just Jarvis to keep him company. And Dummy, Butterfingers, and You, but they didn’t quite count because all they did was ruin everything. Especially Dummy because fuck it all, he really needed to reprogram that robot to never go near a fire extinguisher or blender again. Just once, he’d like to get through a day where one minor spark didn’t cause him to be covered in foam.  
  
The point remained that he didn’t get them to stay because he _wanted_ them there.   
  
With Clint, it was Dummy. The poor bot had grown so attached that when the archer left, he refused to leave his charging dock. Honest to god, it was robot depression, and Tony just couldn’t let his poor artificial intelligence break its poor processor over the lack of an exceptionally annoying master assassin. So naturally, he had demanded Clint move in, and when you get one master assassin, you kind of get both. Package deal. The quiet one person tower turned into a slightly less quiet three person tower. Very slightly, because Tony never knew where the fuck Natasha or Clint were, and they had a habit of taking a year off of his life every time they suddenly showed up right behind him. Which was fairly often, and Tony was expecting his death certificate anyday now.  
  
That, of course, was why the tower needed Thor. Thor ate a lot, was obnoxious, and had no idea what an “indoor voice” was. Tony pestered Fury for a full three months before contact was made, and when Thor finally showed up, Tony had told him that he had “obtained” Kellogg’s and thus had unlimited access to pop-tarts, and he didn’t like them, so what better person to give them to than Thor? It was totally Pepper’s idea, and he had nothing to do with it, of course, so Thor should just move in so he wouldn't hurt Pepper's feelings. Nobody mentioned that Tony didn’t own Kellogg’s, and Thor had no idea what a "Kellogg was", but he loved pop-tarts.  
  
That left Dr. Bruce Banner. He hunted the good doctor down in Middle of Ass-fuck-nowhere, India, and the first thing he said was, “Jarvis is being a dick. He wouldn’t leave me alone until I went looking for you, and brought you back with me.”. Whether Bruce saw through the blatant lie or not, he returned to New York with Tony. The tower was finally full (sort of, but he really kind of might have been avoiding the missing person), and it was much louder now that Thor and Clint wrestled and broke everything, Bruce talked to Jarvis about things that gave Clint headaches, and Natasha… well, Natasha didn’t aid to the increase in sound at all. She was just… Natasha.  
  
And still scared the shit out of Tony on a regular basis. He had a feeling she did it on purpose. She probably wanted him dead.  
  
But of course, nothing could just stay, you know, normal. Or, normal for five superheroes just chilling in a billionaire’s tower like it was a fucking frat house.

Movie night had become somewhat of a tradition every Thursday night, and just as Tony was settling in to watch The Wizard of Oz of all fucking things because Thor was way behind on Midgardian everything, the elevator doors opened to reveal all six foot-whatever of Captain-fucking-America, in the most hideously outdated clothes Tony had ever had the misfortune of seeing.  
  
“Security breach?” he ventured, regarding his tower-mates with a confused gaze.  
  
Bruce ignored him and stood, stepping over Clint (who insisted that sprawling across the entire fucking floor was how he _had_ to watch movies) as he made his way to the rather awkwardly fidgeting Steve Rogers standing in Tony’s living room.  
  
“Steve, it’s good to see you.” he greeted, offering his hand.  
  
Steve’s mouth twitched up a little on one side, though he still threw a few anxious stares across the room towards Tony, who was watching the interaction with suspicious narrowed eyes. “Nice to see you, too.” He replied politely, grasping the doctor’s hand and shaking it.  
  
“Oh, are you kidding me?” Tony groaned childishly, throwing both hands up and staring at the ceiling. “You invited stars and stripes without telling me? Really, Bruce, that’s just not cool. I thought we were friends, bros, amigos, science bud—“  
  
“Sir, you have been considering inviting Captain—“  
  
“Jarvis, do not speak blasphemy.” Tony snapped, climbing to his feet and leaving the room to get a drink. There was no way he'd make it through the movie without at least one.  “I’m going to reprogram you into a can opener and donate you to the homeless shelter. Do you know how many cans they open there, Jarvis? A lot. They open a lot of cans, and you’ll be stuck doing that for the rest of your artificial life. Opening cans. Every day. Forever. And I'll be right here, donating more to them, just so you have more work. Yeah, that’s what you get for being a dick.“  
  
"I apologize, sir." Jarvis answered smoothly. "However, you already donate to the homeless shelters in New York City on a weekly basis."  
  
"Are you _sassing_ me, Jarvis?" Tony demanded, stopping and glaring at Natasha, who had so happily taken his spot in the chair, leaving a Tony-sized space next to Steve on the loveseat. "Really, Natasha? This is what we’re doing? We're playing musical chairs now? You're going to be the death of me, I swear. It's bad enough that you jump out of everywhere, now you're—"  
  
“Stark, can it.” Clint snapped, hitting the billionaire’s knee with the back of his hand. “Watching a movie here.”  
  
“Oh, like you’ve never seen the Wizard of Oz, Robin Hood.” Tony grumped, slouching down and sipping his drink. He briefly debated kicking Clint in the back of the head, but Natasha was giving him that look she gave people just before she stabbed them.  
  
So he watched the movie. The stupid movie he had seen at least… zero times in his entire life because it was for children and he had better things to do. He very subtly tried to squish himself as close to the arm of the loveseat as humanly possible, and was on the verge of climbing right over it and sneaking out of the room when Natasha pinned him with a glare. She cocked an eyebrow. _Problem, Stark?_ He frowned and watched as she turned her gaze on Steve—who was very much enjoying the movie. And then she grinned. If there was anything that kind of terrified Tony Stark, it was Natasha's grin. He slumped back in the loveseat, all too aware of the epitome of human perfection next to him, and downright glared at Dorothy as she followed the yellow brick road. In hindsight, drinking before the movie probably would have been a better idea. He yawned, propping his elbow up on the arm of the loveseat and rested his cheek against his fist.  
  
“—Should be going.”  
  
And at some point, he clearly had fallen asleep. He (very gracefully, thank you) startled back into consciousness, only flailing a little bit. Steve Rogers was still on the couch next to him, looking like someone had punched him and—Oh. Maybe it was directly related to Tony slumped against his shoulder and drooling.

_Well_ then.

Natasha gave him a pointed look and nodded towards the kitchen, one delicate eyebrow arched high. He glared at her. She raised the other.

It was a wordless battle, and he had lost before it even begun. Only somewhat because he was still afraid of Natasha potentially ripping his balls off.  
  
“Yeah, probably.” Tony replied, shooting to his feet and ushering the super soldier out of his living room. “Nice seeing you out of the spangly uniform, but yeah, I’m sure you have places to go, people to see, old ladies to flirt with and whatnot.”  
  
Except halfway through the kitchen door, Steve gave him this look. This really pathetic, pitiful look, and it made all sorts of feelings Tony thought he had stomped down reappear.

And then Natasha chucked a couch cushion at the back of his head. He stumbled forward into Steve, then pushed away and cleared his throat, hands in pockets. And god, Steve was blushing and looked so damn uncomfortable, so Tony did what any billionaire with a small crush on the man who told him he was worthless when they met would do.  
  
He stared at his toaster like it had grown a pair of legs.  
  
Steve just stood quietly—and much too awkwardly for Tony to handle without at least being buzzed—for a moment in the communal kitchen in Stark Tower, watching Tony Stark himself stare down a toaster. Finally, he ventured, “Uh, Tony?”  
  
Tony whipped his gaze around to the Captain and pointed at his toaster. “You can’t leave. My toaster likes you.”  
  
The silence that followed was almost deafening, and now Steve was giving him a look. One that was clearly Captain America for “What the fuck are you talking about?”. Or maybe it was “What the fuck is wrong with you?”. “Are you fucking kidding me?” seemed a viable option as well. Either way, it wasn’t a very good look.  
  
So Tony followed that up with, “My toaster really likes you, and if you leave, it’ll stop making toast.” He crossed his arms, looking anywhere but at Steve. “And if it stops making toast, I’ll probably starve because let’s be honest here, I can _not_ cook. Do _not_ give me that look, Rogers.” He pointed to the man, who had a half-smile crawling across his face. “I promised Pepper I wouldn’t die of starvation so she could take a vacation, so if my toaster stops making toast because _you_ decided not to visit more often or, I don’t know, move into the tower, and I die, then it’s all on you. And you should probably know that Pep—“  
  
“Tony, toasters can’t talk.” Steve cut him off softly, carefully.  
  
“Okaaaaay…?” Tony replied hesitantly, dragging the word out into a question while he processed the somewhat hopeful look on the blonde’s face. “Well, this is _my_ toaster, so…” He gestured wildly towards the living room, then the toaster. “So between movie nights, and my toaster, you should probably just, y’know, move in.” Steve blinked, and Tony just barreled on. “I mean, I’m sure SHIELD gave you a lovely apartment—truly, lovely, I’m sure—and you’d much rather hang out with your elderly neighbors, but _Rogers_ , think of the _toaster_.”  
  
“Oh, yeah.” Steve nodded furiously, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “I don’t want your toaster to be upset.”  
  
“Right, so.” Tony blinked at him, because really, Captain America was capable of _sarcasm_? To cover up his surprise, he quickly leaned across the counter and started to _stroke_ the toaster. “It’s alright, buddy. Steve will use you everyday. Super soldiers love toast. Or something. Bagels? Do people put bagels in toasters? Stop giving me that look; I told you: _I can’t cook_.”  
  
Feelings were not Tony Stark’s thing, but he had a way of expressing them anyhow. And really, if Steve played along with his horrible expression of affection, hey, who the fuck cared? The super soldier moved in, and Tony was about half of a baby step closer to actually going “hey, we barely know each other, but I kind of love you, and you’re my childhood hero, so we should probably sleep together, strings attached”. He’d get there. Eventually.


End file.
